


Feints and Falls

by hiddencait



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5 and 1 Format, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Epistolary, F/M, Multiple Harry Potter side characters appear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25592851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddencait/pseuds/hiddencait
Summary: Or Five Times Viktor Might Have Made a Different Play for Hermione’s Affections, and the One Dance They Actually Got to Share
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34
Collections: Fandom Giftbox 2020





	Feints and Falls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isilloth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilloth/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Debts of Honor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132749) by [sareliz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sareliz/pseuds/sareliz). 



> AKA some of the many “How might Hermione have ended up with Viktor moments” that have occurred to me that would either have ended up epic in length or that I couldn’t see the end of the story for – Long live the 5 & 1 format for giving me a proper style for this gift lol
> 
> Note: Mr. Viktor “I can write letters so swoonworthy straight men begin questioning their sexuality” Krum is definitely inspired by @Sareliz and her incredible Debts of Honor – I consider it required reading for all Hermione/Viktor fans. I can only hope the letter here has even a fraction of the swoonworthiness LOL.
> 
> Final Note: I know a certain author has been ... awful frankly, which made me go back and forth about whether I even wanted to write for this fandom. But trans darlings, please know I see you and I love you and Viktor says Trans Rights!

**_Out of Sympathy for a Scared Fourteen Year Old_ **

Viktor had noticed the boy before in the company of the young beauty who’d caught his eye, the one so often with a book before her and an intent look upon her face. He’d had the faintest sense of irritation each time he’d seen them together, but he’d guessed they were mere companions and friends rather than the romantic partners he feared them to be. Or so he hoped.

But he had not seen the boy – Potter – look as _empty_ as he did now, standing before the other champions and struggling to make his explanations. Viktor tried to remember, but he did not think he’d seen the Hogwarts student anywhere near the Goblet, and with the fear in his eyes now, could not believe the boy had entered his own name.

He did make himself consider that perhaps he wished to believe that for the sake of the boy’s lovely young companion – remember, you must be honest with yourself, Viktor’s papa always told him – but no. When he looked at Potter, he saw so many of his younger classmates at Durmstrang. Those drawn into contests and quarrels without their consent, overwhelmed and out of their depth and having no knowledge of how to escape the conflict in front of them.

No, Potter had not entered, and even if he had, such a young one should not be spoken to so harshly.

“I believe him,” Viktor said, his low voice startling the others into silence. “You have only to look at him to know he does not lie. He did not enter.”

Karkaroff scowled over at him, but Viktor was not unused to that and ignored him. “Is there anything else to speak of?” He waited a beat, then nodded sharply. “No. Then we are done here.”

Viktor shared a glance with his other champions, both of whom hesitated only a moment before nodding back at him. Then as a unit, the three turned and hustled Potter out between them, Viktor glaring at any of the adults who appeared they might stop him.

Outside the doors, Viktor paused to look down at the young man whose face was almost painfully relieved. “Thanks,” Potter managed. “Just – thanks.”

Viktor nodded and reached up to squeeze his shoulder. “If you need help, say so. Yes?” Harry nodded back and managed a smile. “Good.”

He patted Potter’s shoulder again and turned to make his way out of the castle back to the ship, ignoring Karkaroff calling out from behind him. He’d aid the boy however he could, and guessed the other champions might as well with his example to follow.

And if that aid happened to bring him into the company of the intriguing young friend of Potter’s? Well, that would simply be a lucky chance, now wouldn’t it?

**_In a Note at the End of Term_ **

He had agonized over his decision, wondering if it was too forward, too foolish, if she would take it in the spirit in which it was meant, or if she would assume it to be merely the gesture of a friend as he feared she had considered even their dancing to be such.

Viktor at least felt sure she realized she… mattered to him after the Second Task, but the depth of his regard seemed to have eluded her. He supposed it did not help that of the other three hostages, only one was a romantic partner. She might merely have thought he saw her as a good friend, much like the bond between her two companions, Potter and Weasley.

He wanted there to be no question, had written his note in such a way as to leave no question.

There was another draft he’d debated on giving her instead, one that was polite and friendly and casual in tone. One that gave her the option of continue to be oblivious as to his feelings if she wished. She was young, he knew, younger than him for sure, and too, had been raised outside the magical world and the early marriages and courtships so common among wixen folk. She might need that obliviousness to feel herself back in the world of her parents.

But no, his Hermione always wanted to know the truth of things, the heart of things, even if they were not what she expected. Even if they were not what she wanted to be true.

So be it.

In the chaos of students from all three schools, he maneuvered his way to her and tugged her slightly aside for the barest privacy possible in such a crush.

“This is for you,” he managed, words rough even to his own ears due to his nervousness. “Write to me. Promise?”

When she nodded shyly, Viktor nearly leaned in to kiss her right then, but luckily one of his classmates called for him to come so he was able to pull himself away. As he backed through the crowd, he couldn’t resist blowing her a single kiss, however.

Later, once the ship was underway, he sat in his bunk and remembered the words he had written, all but scoured into his memory. At least, on paper, with time to reference his dictionary and edit his words over and over, he knew he had been as eloquent as he might have been in his native tongue, instead of the stuttering fool he’d felt all year.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_I know we have only known each other a short time, and that time was fraught with danger from within and without your Hogwarts. I wish we might have had more time free from fear to simply learn each other better, with or without the Tournament. In truth, I almost wish I had not entered, so as to have had more time to spend at your side instead of preparing for the tasks. Though, it is also true that the time we shared reading and studying in the library is dear to my heart, so perhaps I do not regret that the Tournament required such reading, either._

_But I do wish I could have spoiled you, courted you as I would have a lady any other year of my school life. As you surely deserve. More visits to your village or shared meals in the sun by the lake, proper outings where a young man can cherish the woman he desires._

_For I do desire you, my Hermione. I do cherish you, more than I can say with words in your tongue. In Bulgarian, I could have said such lovely things to you, poetry and philosophy and all the words to say how much you mean to me._

_But my English alas is not so good, and I fear it failed to tell you the true depth and breadth of my heart for you._

_And now I am leaving, and cannot know if your heart holds such emotion for me in return or not. I did not know how to ask before I left, but I ask it now: would you let me court you, Hermione? May I continue to write and tell you of my hopes and dreams for our future together? I know I have invited you to visit, but I fear that Skeeter woman might have tarnished the thought for you. I hope she has not, but I will understand if so, of course._

_Whether you are willing and able to visit me or not, I know we will be living far apart for some time, and you are not yet of age. Still, I can wait those years with ease if I know there is a chance for a life lived with you. And too, you do like to read after all – perhaps you would enjoy reading long letters as the years pass? And there are always holidays if you would permit me to visit you, as well._

_Dear Hermione, I find I do not know how to close this letter, and so must only write:_

_With love,_

_Viktor_

He hoped she read it. He hoped she believed it.

He wouldn’t know until she wrote him in return. If she wrote him. Viktor swallowed and wished with every part of him that she would.

**_With a Surprise Visit over the Summer after Hermione’s Fifth Year_ **

He wasn’t sure this was the best idea, but Fleur was insistent, and Viktor had learned well enough that his friend would not easily take “no” for an answer.

“And besides,” she had written, “even in the worst case, it will be pleasant to have a friend here who does _not_ mock my accent.”

He knew how hard it was for her to admit discomfort at her situation, even to a friend. So if her Bill could not be there to defend her – not that she could not defend herself, but it was the principle of the thing – from his family, then Viktor could go and at least be a support for her against the redheaded hoard. It was the least he could do for the friend who had not begrudged him the actions forced upon him in the maze. Fleur’s company was hardly the worst thing to bear.

And if, by chance, the best case occurred?

Viktor tried not to think about his hopes as he planned for the trip. It took some creative scheduling and even more creative convincing of his manager, but he managed to arrange a solid three days off from summer training and the exhibition games leading up to the World Cup matches. The international portkey was, as always, nauseating, and he was glad for the cushion of a half hour before their meeting time to settle his stomach.

Not that his stomach would stop rolling from anxiety, but that was out of his control.

He made his way through the crowds toward the pub where they’d arranged to meet, ignoring the inevitable flashes of a camera, though those came less often than they would have in a larger village or town. He’d only had to choose between two lodging houses in Ottery St. Catchpole – or more accurately, Fleur had only _allowed_ him to choose between those two. He was grateful for the simplicity of her highhandedness if he was honest. It had been years since he’d had to arrange his own travel due to the Quidditch teams all travelling together. Viktor doubted he would have ended up in trouble or done something foolish, but the sheer time and stress required to make such arrangements were more than he could bear with the other stress he was under leading up to the visit.

He’d been settled into a booth, choosing to set his back to the door as he knew Fleur would prefer to face it, when he heard that voice he’d missed for so long, bossy and annoyed, and more than a little confrontational. “Really Fleur, a pub? That’s where you so desperately needed to take me?”

“Patience, my friend. Patience.” Fleur’s voice was cool and unaffected as always, save for the barest hint of an edge of annoyance that Viktor guessed only her real friends would notice. “You will like this place, I am sure. Or at least some of what this pub has to offer.”

At that, recognizing a cue when he heard one, Viktor pushed himself to his feet and turned to face the pair of women. As much to avoid looking at her for just a little longer – to avoid the chance that her face would not be welcoming and that this whole thing was for nothing – he clicked his heels together and bowed to her, just as he had when he was a student. Only then, did he allow his gaze to lift to her face, barely hesitating long enough to take in her figure. “Hermione,” he said, catching Fleur’s little nod of confirmation that he’d finally _finally_ pronounced it correctly out of the corner of his eye. “It is good to see you.”

“I –” Hermione blinked, speechless, then slowly smiled. “Viktor, it’s so good to see you, too!”

Then she flung herself into his arms, laughing with delight all the while as he clung to her and spun her around him.

As Fleur beamed at the pair and silently made her exit, Viktor noted he would need to find his friend a _very_ expensive wedding gift when the time came.

**_At a Wedding under Fire_ **

The patronus faded away, but the silence in its wake only lasted a moment before the panicked screams erupted and the tent descended into chaos.

Viktor had only one thought in his head as he pushed his way through the near stampeding crowds: _he must find Hermione._ He ducked a spell that suddenly rocketed by like a bludger past his head and scowled more fiercely, drawing his own wand. The enemy had arrived.

_Find Hermione,_ he told himself again. _Find her._

He sent a stunning spell at a masked figure looming over an older woman, then saw her, red dress a beacon. “Hermione,” he called, then shoved his way to her as she spun, looking around her wildly. “Hermione – we must get out of here now. We –”

“Harry!” she interrupted. “I have to get Harry and Ron – we have to leave together. Do you see? I _can’t_ leave without them.”

Something in his chest ached at the thought of her concern for those two, always for those two, but he forced it down, taking her hand in his and using his height to look over the heads of those around them. If she wouldn’t leave without them, then he would find them for her. What else could he do? He scanned the various redheads – of which there were many – dotting the crowd, then his seeker’s eyes narrowed in on the particular Weasley in question. “There – come. We must go quickly!”

Hand in hand, they made their way across the tent to the two teens, looking just as frantic as Hermione had been. As they moved, both Viktor and Hermione cast spells at the invaders, and the part of him that was always so stunned by her brilliance noted she was casting left handed. Not as well as with her dominant hand, sure, but she was still doing so. _Fuck, the woman was a force of nature,_ he thought.

They reached the other two, and almost at once, she seemed to nearly forget he was there, despite her hand still tangled in his. It was Weasley demanding to know what Viktor thought he was doing that drew her attention back all at once. “Viktor – you can’t… we need to –”

“How often have you apparated with multiple passengers?” he interrupted, guessing she meant to leave him behind, but needed desperately to help her just once more before he lost her again.

She blinked. “I’ve… Well I mean I have my license and I’ve read about it…”

“Tell me where you need to go. I can take all three and save you the strength.” Vaguely he heard the other two speak up, but the cacophony of the tent and his focus on her drowned them out. “Please. We both know you will need all of your energy if you must go with them.”

She shook her head and bit her lip, but he could tell it was more at herself than at him. After a quick glance around the tent, now on fire, she nodded briskly. “The London Eye. You remember: where we –”

Viktor nodded back, ignoring the way Weasley had scowled before she cut her words off. “I remember.”

He’d always remember.

“Hold on to me,” he ordered, and scowl notwithstanding, both Potter and Weasley moved to grip his arm without argument. Viktor caught Hermione’s eyes again and took a deep breath, then the world twisted around them. The tent vanished and was replaced by the streets of London, the large wheel backlit behind the little group. His three passengers gasped and sagged, but he’d been expecting it and braced for Hermione and Potter as their weight leaned upon him. Weasley shoved away almost immediately and clung to a nearby railing.

“Fuck, remind me not to do that again any time soon,” Potter wheezed, then seemed to realize what he leaned against and straightened up and away, muttering an apology.

Hermione pressed her face into Viktor’s shoulder for a moment, and he savored it, despite knowing it was likely absentminded on her part. She sighed, a deep ragged thing speaking of her exhaustion, then straightened, as well. “You’re going to have to do it again, Harry. We have to keep moving.”

Already his fierce little lioness was shaking off weariness, her eyes taking to search the passersby for any threat. She was right, he knew. The three of them could not stay here. Not with the target on Potter’s back, and Weasley’s, too, judging from the location of the attack. Viktor fought the impulse to pull his Hermione back into his arms and whisk her away to what he would consider safety, with or without her friends. But she wasn’t his, not really, not anymore, and possibly not ever again. He couldn’t hold her – not when there was something she clearly needed to do.

“Take this,” Viktor said roughly, pulling off the simple chain he wore around his neck and folding it into her hands. To the side, Weasley scoffed, but he ignored him, looking deep into Hermione’s eyes and hoping she saw something there she could trust. “Is portkey to my family’s home. Is not… precisely legal. My papa has a mastery and he made them for my mother and I, that we might come home for even a few hours while away for the Quidditch season without attracting the attention of a purchased portkey.”

“Why would your mother need that? She travels with you?” The annoyance spoke again, and Viktor could not fight off the urge to roll his eyes.

“Because she coaches the Czech national team. She was born there, you see.” The redhead goggled, but now that he was answered, Viktor could dismiss him once again for the issue at hand. He turned back to his – no, still not his, still perhaps never his, but that didn’t matter now, only her safety mattered – Hermione. “Please, if you need a safe haven, use the portkey. Our wards are strong – they’ve never been breached. Not even in the war with Grindewald.

“Say you will use it,” Viktor urged her, gripping her hand around the necklace tightly. “Please, say you will use it.”

Her eyes flickered from his to Potter’s, who nodded slowly. She looked back and licked her lips, her hand shaking in his. “We’ll use it if needed. I promise.”

With that she gently pulled her hand from his, leaving it aching with the loss of her touch. Hermione slipped the chain over her head and then reached for the boys.

Then with a crack, the three were gone, and Viktor was alone. He dropped to his knees where he was and prayed.

**_For Solace at the End of a War_ **

It was still strange to him, that anyone might have thought that Viktor would side with the Death Eaters and their blood purity filth spouting ilk. His grandparents had fought Grindewald and hidden Jewish witches and wizards in their attic during the worst of that war. His mother was a feminist well known throughout the Wizarding sports world for fighting against the unspoken “tradition” that meant few women coached professional teams. And his papa, his brave, brilliant papa, was trans, and Viktor himself could only hope to become half the man his father was.

None of this was a secret. Viktor sometimes thought that bigots were willfully unobservant, as well as willfully bigoted in the first place.

Still, the bigots had come, had sought him for their own and struck out against him when he’d flatly refused. They’d gone to his former school, to recruit and attack children. Children he had known, had learned with, had played Quidditch with.

If he could be proud of one thing in his life, it was that he was one of those who returned to defend Durmstrang’s students from their attackers. He would bear scars for the rest of his life from that battle, and he would do so with pride.

Still, he had lost friends there, and he knew he might have lost friends elsewhere as well. It was the thought of those distant friends, one in particular, that filled him with dread and hope together when the news reached the local papers that the one called Voldemort had finally been defeated again.

Viktor barely hesitated before he caught a portkey to England, taking the time only to tell his parents and his coach where he was going. He didn’t know how long he would be gone, which was certainly a concern for his coach and his contract, but in truth Viktor didn’t care.

Though Quidditch was glorious, it was not the end of the world. It would wait for him or it wouldn’t; it hardly mattered.

That another might not wait did in fact matter a great deal. That, fool he was, he had not _asked_ that other to wait, had not dared to ask though he’d wished to, told himself to, so many times over the past few years.

He was going to see her. _Needed_ to see her. To know his Hermione had survived the war safe and sound. They had written over the years, but he’d had no letters from the British witch since the attack on the Weasley wedding, when she and her two friends had vanished and been declared wanted Undesirables by their own Ministry.

Viktor had no way of knowing where to find her, but he knew where to begin to ask for help with that, or so he suspected.

The trip itself was not particularly complicated. First a portkey to London, then a ride upon that ridiculous Knight Bus to the village of Hogsmede, then a walk to the ruined castle. His feet slowed as the destruction became clearer as he approached, the scope of the damage staggering him. Durmstrang had been attacked, sure, but it had been a brief, pitched battle taking place on the grounds between the castle’s defenders and the attacking wizards who had targeted more fighters than stones.

This, though, had been an assault upon the Hogwarts castle itself. Memories of the year he had studied there crashed over him, and Viktor ached for the place he had known.

But it was being rebuilt, he could see. Though it had been barely a week before the news of that final battle reached Viktor abroad, he could see where repairs had already taken place. It would be some time before the castle was restored to its previous glory and even then it would bear the marks of the attack, but it would be whole in time.

Comforted by the thought, Viktor made his way across the grounds to the entrance, skirting piles of rubble that would still need to be carted away or used for repairs. The doors were mostly intact, he saw, and stood open as if to welcome him back to their halls. It was a fanciful notion, and he clung to it.

Past the doors, he found movement and life again. Here were the people working, wands and hands both at the ready to lift and carry and patch and paint. Unwilling to merely watch, he found himself lending his strength for the placement of one of the great beams, his magic hefting much of the weight while others more practiced at the task performed the minute maneuvers to affix it into the proper place. His help earned him nods and pats on the back and a few murmurs of thanks and his name, but he was allowed to pass without the usual fanfare that had dogged his steps since his Quidditch career began.

Then, in the Great Hall, he found what he sought. Dark hair pulled back haphazardly from her face, and dust smeared across her cheeks and arms, Viktor thought Hermione had never looked so lovely. He waited patiently until she had finished her task, knitting two pieces of one of the hall’s massive tables back together, and then he stepped forward and called to her.

“Hermione,” he breathed, then as she spun to face him, shock in her eyes, he found he had no more words. The ache of relief in his chest made him mute, and he could only stare at her. Hermione, too, seemed at a loss for words, speechless as she so rarely was.

Finally, she took a long breath, and let it out with a sigh that carried the same worry he’d felt for months. Hermione approached him slowly and lifted a hand to his face. “Viktor, you’re here.”

He nodded and pressed his cheek into her palm. “I am. I could not stay away any longer. Not without knowing you lived.”

“I’m all right,” she said, then sighed again. “Or, I’m not hurt really. I’m better than others. I’m still breathing.” At that she shivered, and her hand dropped before she wrapped her arms around her waist.

“You lost someone?”

“Several someones. I don’t think you knew many of them, but – but Fred Weasley was killed.”

He closed his eyes; he had enjoyed the twins at their brother’s wedding. He could only imagine how the family was coping. And of the Weasleys, he remembered… “And the youngest brother, Ron, he was with you, yes? Is he…” he didn’t want to know but made himself ask since he knew him to be important to Hermione. “Is he well?”

She shuffled her feet, suddenly awkward, and Viktor felt his heart sink. “Yeah, Ron – Ron was with Harry and me. For most of it, anyway.” Hermione bit her lip and smiled wryly. “He made it. He’s at St. Mungo’s right now. Not injured, he’s fine. He’s with one of our classmates, Lavender Brown. She was attacked by one of the werewolves, and she almost didn’t make it.”

There was something hinted at in her words, something that nearly made him hope. “Then, is he not… I thought you and he were together at the wedding?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, we weren’t together then. We aren’t together now. There was a moment during the battle where we both thought there might be something, but once everything calmed down, it just… didn’t feel right.” She shrugged. “He’s been a friend so long, I guess we both expected _something_ , but he’s more like family than anything more. And once he heard about Lavender, it was like a lightbulb went off for him. Everything that mattered was just clarified all at once for him.”

“And, are you happy for him?” Viktor asked, unable to stop himself. “Are – are you happy, Hermione?”

She looked up at him and slowly began to smile, her beautiful eyes going soft. “I am happy for him, Viktor. And I wasn’t sure I knew how to be happy for me yet, not after everything that’s happened, but…”

She trailed off, and he found himself leaning down toward her. “But?”

“Then I looked up, and I saw you. And now,” she tilted her face up to softly brush her lips against his, “now it feels like everything that matters has been clarified for _me_. I think I am happy. With you.”

There would be more work to do, more discussions to have, but right then, Viktor allowed himself to have this moment, to hold onto this instant of peace and contentment, as he kissed her back.

**_…And the One Dance They Actually Got to Share, in the Great Hall to the Sound of a Waltz_ **

He knows himself to be clumsy on the ground, that his feet turn awkwardly, and his footsteps shuffle if he does not make himself march as if to battle.

But dancing? Dancing is not walking. Dancing is as flying, and indeed he learned one much at the same time as the other, his mother carefully guiding his steps just as she guided his first flight on a broom. So many reporters guess it was his papa who set Viktor on his path to the Quidditch pitch, and his family laughs and laughs. She danced with him; she flew with him. His mother gave him both these gifts.

It is strange, then, that until now, he’s never truly seen the connection between the two. Not until now, with his lovely Hermione in his arms as they float across the dancefloor beneath the ridiculous enchanted ceiling she is so enamored of. He feels weightless, gliding about, his cape flowing behind him like wings just as her skirts flare out about her legs.

Periwinkle has never seemed such a lovely color until it was worn upon her warm brown skin, until her dark curls cascaded upon it. It’s another sky about her, another sense of flight for this moment between them.

It is a perfect moment, he thinks, and he hopes it will be, for her, a perfect night. As perfect as he can possibly make it.

And if this is the sole moment he will ever hold her, then, well, he will cherish it as long as he can.


End file.
